


thoughts from the tourist

by whalefairyfandom12



Category: Druck | SKAM (Germany), SKAM (France), SKAM (Italy), SKAM (Norway), SKAM (Spain)
Genre: Existentialism, F/F, Fluff, I swear, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Parallel Universes, mentions of a canon suicide attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 13:02:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18032258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whalefairyfandom12/pseuds/whalefairyfandom12
Summary: “But do you think they’re real?” Even presses. “Like, hypothetically, do you think you could meet a parallel version of yourself?”“I mean, the whole idea of a parallel universe is that it’s parallel to ours. There’s no overlap. So to meet a parallel version of yourself implies one of you has figured out how to cross universes.”Somehow Even doubts Eliott or Niccolò is a multidimensional time traveler. “So there’s no other way?”Isak falls silent. By this point he knows Even’s moods better than his own. “What’s this really about?”Even wonders how the fuck you’re supposed tell your boyfriend you think you’ve met two parallel versions of yourself and a parallel version of him.(You don’t.)





	1. turn out the lights

**Author's Note:**

> This started as crack and now I'm not sure what happened. I've seen a lot of fics about the Isak characters meeting but not as many featuring Even and I thought it'd be an interesting idea to explore. The last chapter should be up in a few days! Thank you for reading xx
> 
> (Title taken from Tourist: A Love Song From Paris by Jon Cozart)

“Who’s that?”

 

Even turns at the sound of Isak’s voice, greeting him with a kiss. One might think after five years some of Even’s infatuation with his boyfriend would have disappeared, but they would be wrong. Isak’s cheeks are flushed from the cold, blond curls escaping from under his beanie, and it takes Even a minute to remember there’s a question he should be answering.

 

“His partner agreed to be the composer for the film I’m directing,” he says, pushing the computer screen back further. A red haired man grins at the camera, blue shirt fastened to the top.

 

Isak frowns, leaning in closer. “Did he go to Nissen?”

 

“He lives in Italy, so probably not.”

 

“He looks familiar.” Isak pulls out the chair across from him, shaking his head as if to dispel the image. His beanie lands on the floor, followed by his jacket a moment later. Even sighs, staring at the pile of clothing dispondantly. Four years and Isak still doesn’t know what a coat hanger is. “How’s your film going anyway?”

 

“On track so far. The composer submitted a piece he wrote a while back and his recommendations check out. He’ll probably be at the meeting.”

 

“And you’re sure you don’t want me to come?”

 

Even smiles, bumping their feet together under the table. “I always want you to come. In more ways than one,” he adds, wiggling his eyebrows. Isak groans, picking his hat off the floor and throwing it at him. “But I don’t want you to miss your presentation.”

 

“Thanks for reminding me,” he grumbles. “I’d rather go with you.”

 

“No you wouldn’t.”

 

“No, I wouldn’t.” He reaches for Even’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “Not this time.” Even hums his agreement. As much as Isak bitches about the board of directors, having the opportunity to present in front of them isn’t something he can miss.

 

“Six days,” Even says. It’s more to reassure himself than Isak. While their jobs don’t separate them too often (or for very long) Mikael always tells him he gets mopey without Isak around. In his defense, a lack of Isak would make anyone mopey.  

 

“Six days,” Isak echoes.

 

It’s less than a week, Even rationalizes. He’ll be fine.

 

::

 

Even is not fine.

 

He arrived in Paris a day and a half early to sort a few things out before the meeting, and by day two he’s already climbing the walls. He knows it’s pathetic but he misses Isak, and every time he sees something new he’ll turn to ask him what he thinks only to find empty space.

 

The first meeting is today, and even if it goes poorly at least it’ll take his mind off Isak for awhile. Though they’ve communicated over email this is the first time he’ll meet Eliott, the screenwriter, in person. The film was his pitch originally--Even had happened to stumble on it, shown it to Mikael, and things went from there. From what he can tell today’s meeting is just between him, Eliott, and the new composer before officially pitching to the studio tomorrow.

 

He tugs on his collar as he steps inside the office. He’s never been a formal clothes kind of person, but Mikael hadn’t been able to make it and told Even in no uncertain terms that he was representing the both of them and to suck it up.

 

He sits near the back of the room (closest to the door) and opens his computer. It’s not quite time to start yet, and he sneaks a look at his phone. Isak’s wished him good luck and Mikeal’s told him not to fuck up. He sends a heart in response to the former and middle finger to the latter.

 

“Thank you for joining me today.”

 

Even shoves his phone in his pocket and looks towards the front of the room. The speaker is tall--almost as tall as he is, which is saying something. He’s holding a remote in his hand, facing the screen. _POLARIS_ is written across the slide, sketched in graphite pencil.

 

“I’m Eliott Demaury, the creator and screenwriter of _Polaris_.” Eliott turns to face the rest of the room and Even freezes. It’s...there’s something about him that’s eerily familiar, like looking into a mirror that’s just _slightly_ wrong. He grips the armrests of his chair, focusing on the feel of the plastic beneath his fingers. The longer he looks at Eliott the more disoriented he feels, and when Even tries to focus elsewhere he finds he _can’t_ \--can only stare as the floor drops beneath him and bile rises in his throat.

 

A sharp “What the hell?” is finally enough to break his trance. He turns to see a black haired man staring at him in what can only be described as abject horror, hazel eyes wide. The vertigo doubles, and Even digs his nails into his palm.

 

“Who are you?” the man asks.

 

“Even,” Even says. “I’m the director. Who’re _you_?”

 

There’s a pause. “Niccolò. I’m the composer. I don’t--” Niccolò blinks, running a hand over his face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t sleep well last night and I think I have a headache.”

 

Even knows the feeling.

 

The composer frowns, head tipping to the side. “You said your name is Even?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“You just...remind me of someone.”

 

“You remind me of someone too.” Maybe he’s crazy to say anything (as much as he hates that word) when he doesn’t even know how to describe what he’s feeling himself, but it’s obvious there’s something...off.

 

Eliott sets down the remote. His eyes dart between them with a frown, and it’s a small consolation that he looks just as confused. “Is there any chance we’ve met before?”

 

There isn’t. “Maybe,” Even says.

 

Niccolò nods. “I’ve been to Paris a few times,” he offers. It’s clear none of them are particularly convinced, but no one argues otherwises.

 

Even fiddles with his phone, forcing the vertigo aside. “What are you thinking for the pitch?” he asks, vainly trying to steer the conversation back on track. It’s certainly been one of the stranger starts to a meeting, but the sooner they finish the sooner he can lay down. 

Eliott nods, seeming to snap back to attention. “ _Polaris_ was an idea I had a long time ago,” he says, flipping to the next slide. It’s a sketch of two people holding hands, one in the dark and another cast in light. “It’s the story of two characters and a tunnel. The character never comes out of his tunnel because he’s afraid of the light, and he meets the hero who’s afraid of the dark. They fall in love, but until one is brave enough to enter the other’s world they can’t be together.”

 

Even leans forward, mind already spinning. He’ll have to be careful with making the tunnel too dark, but adding a sharper contrast with the light world should take care of some of the problem.

 

“I want the music to play a large part in shaping the atmosphere,” Eliott continues. “And even dictate some of the direction of the story.” He directs his next statement to Niccolò. “I was hoping the piano could be the primary instrument.”

 

“The piece you wrote,” Even says. “What inspired it?”

 

Niccolò ducks his head, blushing. It’s sweet. “My boyfriend. I read your description for the film and the emphasis on the relationship being regardless of gender or anything else jumped out at me."

 

Eliott’s eyes light up. “My boyfriend helped with a lot of _Polaris_ ,” he says. “So I’m glad it resonated with you.”

 

An interesting coincidence--all three of them having boyfriends. Although Even supposes it makes sense the project would attract more LGBTQ+ people considering the plot. It's part of why he signed on, after all. 

 

He presses a hand to his forehead, massaging his temple. Eliott and Niccolò are still talking and he knows he should be listening but he feels a little like someone's hitting him over the head with a hammer. He reaches for his water and downs the entire glass. It doesn’t help, but he opens his spreadsheet and forces himself to pay attention.

 

He still can’t look directly at Eliott or Niccolò without feeling dizzy, and the minute he gets back to his hotel he takes a painkiller.

 

::

 

He Skypes Isak later that night. At least they’re in the same time zone this time--his last trip had been to Los Angeles and it had been a rough couple of days.

 

“What was Eliott like?” Isak asks. In typical Skype fashion the audio is unsynced and his face has been reduced to a series of pixelated shapes.

 

“He was nice,” Even says. “So was Niccolò. They both seem to care a lot about _Polaris_.” He briefly thinks about bringing up the weird feeling of familiarity, but decides against it. “I’m putting together some of Eliott’s concept art and Niccolò’s music to get a better idea of the vibe.”

 

“But you think they’ll be good colleagues?” Isak asks.

 

“I think so.” As long as he can keep his headache in check. “Are you feeling ready for your presentation?”

 

His boyfriend groans, thumping his head against the table. “Fucking Julian was supposed to have the slides finished today but he said he ‘ran out of time’ so we’ll barely have time to do a run through.”

 

“That’s bullshit.”

 

“I know. But there’s nothing I can about it now. Astrid was pretty pissed.”

 

Isak is managing to sound relatively calm, but Even’s been witness to many a mental breakdowns over trying to finish the project. “What are you going to do?”

 

“Just practice what we can and hope for the best, I guess.”

 

There’s a peal of laughter from the hallway followed by a high pitched voice and Even scrambles to turn up the volume. As soon as he moves his laptop Isak’s picture cuts out, followed by the audio. His next sentence sounds like it’s coming from underwater.

 

“Damn it,” Even curses, dragging his mouse to check the wifi signal. “Isak, I don’t know if you’re still there but I can’t hear you.”

 

There’s a chime, and a message pops up in bright white letters: _The connection speed between you is slow._

 

“Damn it,” Even says again. He sighs, watching the screen spin for another minute before giving up and ending the call. He reaches for his phone instead.

 

“I can’t believe you hung up on me,” Isak says as soon as he answers.

 

“Blame Skype.”

 

“I should go to bed anyway. I have to be in the office early.”

 

“I miss you,” Even says wistfully. “I wish I could make you breakfast.”

 

“I wish you could make me breakfast too.” Isak stifles a yawn. “I love you.”

 

“I love you too,” Even says, closing his eyes. If he tries hard enough he can almost imagine Isak's sitting beside him. “Sleep well.”

  
  


He falls asleep clutching his phone and dreams of black holes.

 

::

 

The bakery is bustling as Even pushes his way to the exit, coffee and scone in hand. The sun is just beginning to rise as he walks back towards his hotel, orange and gold painting the sky.  It’s a little earlier than he usually gets up, but he hadn’t been able to go back to sleep after his dream.

 

He likes Paris so far. The romantic film nerd in him is in love with the architecture, and every time he passes the Eiffel tower he oogles it like the tourist he is. Someday he’ll have to return with Isak and walk along the Champs-Élysées.

 

“Even!”

 

He stops, turning to see Eliott waving him down. He’s wearing a brown jacket and his free hand is intertwined with another man’s. Even would laugh at the coincidence of running into Eliott here of all places, but to his irritation his headache has started to return.

 

“This is Lucas,” Eliott says, gesturing to his companion. “My boyfriend.”

 

Even opens his mouth to say hello when Lucas smiles and his words disappear. He’s...he’s not Isak (no one is like Isak) but there’s something about him that reminds him so much of his boyfriend he feels like crying.

 

“How did you two meet?” he asks instead, gripping his coffee a little tighter.

 

Eliott’s eyes soften, and he cards a hand through Lucas’s hair. “I saw him the first day of school. He didn’t see me until later.”

 

Lucas bats his hand away, rolling his eyes. “It wasn’t that much later. Some stupid club I had to go to,” he says, addressing his next words to Even. “But I saw him as soon as he walked in.”

 

“You were only there because Imane had your weed.”

 

“What, like your reasons were so much better?”

 

Eliott shrugs a little too nonchalantly to be genuine. “I was there to meet you.”

 

Even’s blood freezes. Realistically, there are millions of people that have fallen in love in high school. Probably more. It shouldn’t mean anything.

 

Except.

 

(Except Isak asked if he knew Niccolò’s boyfriend the first time he saw him. Except Eliott and Lucas’s conversation is verbatim to one he and Isak had years ago. Except Niccolò and Eliott make Even feel like someone’s taken his essence and cut everything together just similar enough to feel uncanny. It shouldn’t mean anything, but it does.)

 

::

 

“Niccolò,” Even begins as casually as he can. They’re leaving the office after the pitch meeting, and while it had gone well enough he’d spent the entirety of it on edge. He’s not even sure what he’s trying to accomplish, but somewhere he’s made a deal with himself. He’ll ask Niccolò about his boyfriend and then he’s done. He just...he _needs_ to know. “What’s your boyfriend’s name?”

 

“Martino,” Niccolò says, and his voice is the softest it’s been yet.

 

He turns on his phone and angles the screen towards Even. Niccolò and a man he assumes is Martino have their arms looped around each other and are standing on top of a mountain. Niccolò is beaming at the camera, but Martino is staring at him like the embodiment of the heart eyes emoji.

 

“Where did you meet?" Even asks. 

 

“School,” Niccolò says. He looks at the picture for a moment longer before turning his phone off. “I transferred my last year and met Martino.”

 

“You transferred your last year?” Even blurts, unable to help himself.

 

“You can’t say you truly lived if you didn’t fail at least one school year.”

 

“What happened?”

 

Niccolò’s expression shuts down and he winces. If the other man’s experiences are anything like his it’s not the kind of thing you talk about in a first conversation.

 

“I repeated my last year too,” Even says. While it  _usually_ isn't the kind of thing you talk about in a first conversation, he’s reached the deep end a long time ago. “I’m bipolar, and I had a really bad manic episode at my old school. I just needed to start over, you know?”

 

Niccolò’s posture relaxes. “I do,” he says. “More than you know.” He hesitates, gaze hovering somewhere by Even’s shoulder. “Actually, what you described is what happened to me my last year.”

 

They’re on the cusp of something, Even just doesn’t know if he’ll find out _what_ in time. He wipes his palms on his trousers and jumps. “I kissed Mikael,” he says bluntly. “He was my best friend in high school, but he was straight and at the time really religious. It triggered the manic episode.” It hurts a little less to talk about now that he and Mikael have smoothed things over and some time has passed, but he doesn’t think it’ll ever be easy.

 

Niccolò finally meets his eyes. There’s something melancholy in his expression, a kind of heaviness that never really goes away. “Me too,” he says. “But his name wasn’t Mikael.”


	2. with the view of us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you believe in parallel universes?”
> 
> “My boyfriend likes them,” Eliott says.
> 
> “Mine too,” Even says. “Which is kind of my point.” He swallows. There’s no turning back now. “I think they’re real, and I think we’re...parallel versions of each other.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know I said there were going to be two chapters, but I lied as there's a quick epilogue. I'm planning on posting back to back, though, so hopefully it isn't too much of an inconvenience <33

“Parallel universes. Do you think they’re real?”

 

“I missed you too, Even,” Isak says, and despite his existential crisis Even can’t help but relax at the sound of his voice.

 

“You know I always miss you.”

 

“Suck up.” Even huffs out a laugh, and he can hear Isak’s answering smile. “Parallel universes? I guess so.”

 

“You used to be really into them.”

 

“Yeah, when I was seventeen.”

 

“But do you think they’re real?” Even presses. “Like, hypothetically, do you think you could meet a parallel version of yourself?”

 

“I mean, the whole idea of a parallel universe is that it’s parallel to ours. There’s no overlap. So to meet a parallel version of yourself implies one of you has figured out how to cross universes.”

 

Somehow Even doubts Eliott or Niccolò is a multidimensional time traveler. “So there’s no other way?”

 

Isak falls silent. By this point he knows Even’s moods better than his own. “What’s this really about?”

 

Even wonders how the fuck you’re supposed tell your boyfriend you think you’ve met two parallel versions of yourself and a parallel version of him.

 

(You don’t.)

 

“ _Polaris_ talks about the multiverse so I was just curious.” There’s a rustling sound and when Even closes his eyes he can picture Isak laying upside down on their bed, brow drawn in concentration.

 

“I guess if there _was_ a way to cross universes, it’s likely you would meet another version of yourself.”

 

“If you could meet a parallel Isak, would you?” Even asks.

 

“I don’t know. I guess it depends.”

 

“On?”

 

“If you were there too.” It’s not often Even is left speechless but Isak still manages to catch him off guard. “I don’t think I’d want to meet a version of myself without you.”

 

Even feels dangerously close to crying. So instead of saying something like _A version of me doesn’t exist without you_ he says “Look who’s turning into a sap now.”

 

“Okay, fuck you asshole,” Isak says, laughing. “You’re the one who asked.”

 

“Why wouldn’t you want to meet yourself?” Even asks.

 

“Without you,” Isak corrects. “I didn’t really like myself before meeting you. Everything about me was fake. Or, well, everything I told people. I probably would’ve come out eventually, but I doubt I would’ve reached out to Mamma again. I’ve known you for half a decade Even, who knows what would’ve happened?” He pauses. “What about you? What do you think version #3546 of you is like?”

 

Even exhales, closing his eyes. An unintentionally loaded question, but a loaded one nonetheless. The thing is, there are so many good things about his life and the majority of them _don’t_ have anything to do with Isak. He loves his job, finally feels like he fits in his own skin, and on his best days he even likes himself. But even if they aren’t reliant on Isak most of these things have happened because of him.

 

“I don’t think I’d be anything.”

 

“Don’t say that,” Isak says sharply. “Jesus--you’re fantastic, Even, at your job and everything you do. I don’t understand half the shit you talk about, but fucking Baz Luhermann gave you a handshake. And even though you didn’t wash your hand for like, a week afterwards which was disgusting, you’re amazing.”

 

Even is sufficiently silenced. He still doesn’t know what he did to deserve Isak, but whatever it was he’s grateful. He wets his lips, and all he can think to say is “I wish you were here.”

 

“I wish I was there.” Isak’s tone is a little lighter when he speaks again. “But I know you now, so I guess we’ll never know what would’ve happened.”

 

Even’s thoughts drift towards Eliott and Lucas, and then to Niccolò and Martino. “No,” he says. “I guess we won’t.”

 

::

 

After another sleepless night Even’s finally caves. He opens his computer, cringing a little at the sudden brightness, and searches for ‘Parallel universes.’

 

He’s never liked the idea of parallel universes. Aside from the concept making his head hurt it made everything feel too big. He can barely keep _this_ version of himself together, and the thought of infinite copies of himself is horrifying.

 

From what he can tell most of the research into parallel universes is hypothetical. That seems to be part of the problem; that there’s no way to definitively test if they’re real or not. Every article he clicks on seems to disprove the last.

 

_“If the multiverse theory is true, then there are potentially an infinite number of universes where a version of you exists and an infinite number where you don’t. But then the question remains: are you the first or simply another in a long series of copies?”_

 

Even shuts his laptop. He’s spent too much of his life believing the things he thought and felt didn’t matter or couldn’t be trusted because he was bipolar. The idea they matter even less now, or that his feelings aren’t his own because he’s just a pale imitation of someone else doesn’t sit well.

 

Still, he sends a text to Eliott and Niccolò asking if they’re free later this afternoon _._ Now he just has to figure out how to explain without sounding completely absurd.

 

::

 

They meet at Eliott’s apartment. Even feels a little guilty considering it was his idea in the first place, but Eliott had offered and he didn’t know where else to go. It’s a nice place, cozy and well lived in. A piano sits against the wall (Niccolò’s eyes had lit up when he’d first seen it) with a record player beside it. A series of drawings are taped across the wall of a variety of different sketches from animals to a candy bar, all done by Eliott.

 

“Nice drawings,” Even says. “Is that a raccoon?”

 

Eliott hands him a beer. “Raccoons are awesome,” he says, holding two fingers by his eyes. “Plus they were masks.”

 

Niccolò brushes a hand against one of the drawings. It flutters under his touch. “They’re cool,” he agrees. “Personally I’m more of a giraffe person.”

 

"Giraffes?" 

 

"Their heads are far away from their hearts," Niccolò says as if it explains everything.

 

Eliott leads them towards the sofa and Even sets his beer on the end table, wiping the condensation off his hands. “I lied in my text message,” he says. “I didn’t actually want to talk about _Polaris_ , I’m sorry.”

 

“Okay,” Niccolò says. He doesn’t look especially upset so far, which he chooses to take a positive sign.

 

“Do you believe in parallel universes?”

 

“My boyfriend likes them,” Eliott says.

 

“Mine too,” Even says. “Which is kind of my point.” He swallows. There’s no turning back now. “I think they’re real, and I think we’re...parallel versions of each other.”

 

Eliott’s expression is unreadable.

 

Even knows how ridiculous he sounds. If he was in Eliott or Niccolò’s position he wouldn’t believe himself either. (He _still_ barely believes it.)

 

Niccolò clears his throat, dragging a hand through his hair. “This whole week, meeting you.” He takes a shuddering breath. “I had a manic episode my last year of school after trying to kiss my best friend. After, I transferred to a new school where I met my boyfriend the first day.” He turns to Eliott. “You did too, didn’t you?” The other man nods, slowly. Niccolò exhales, slumping back against the sofa. “What the fuck?”

 

“I don’t know,” Even says.

 

“Seriously, what the fuck?” Niccolò shakes his head, curls flopping with the force of his movement. “I didn’t even _believe_ in parallel universes.”

 

“Me neither,” Even says. “Not really.” It’s one thing to imagine an alternate universe and another to be confronted with it.

 

“How is that even possible?” Niccolò asks. “We’re all in the same place.”

 

“I tried to google it, but it’s not the kind of thing you find on the internet.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Eliott still hasn’t said anything. His foot is tapping against the floor, faster and faster. “Doesn’t this bother you?” he asks abruptly. “That we’re all just copies of each other? If we’re all just different versions than nothing we do matters. The manic episodes, the suicide attempt,” his voice cracks on the last word, and he scowls. “What does it matter? If it was always meant to happen then there’s nothing I can do about it.

 

“From what I could tell we’re not the same,” Even says. “Just that some of our experiences might be.” Quite frankly his brief foray into quantum theory had left him with more questions than answers. “The basis for the multiverse theory is the idea that space time is actually flat and goes on infinitely. Because there are only so many ways particles can be arranged eventually they start repeating themselves with small differences. So even though there seem to be some fixed points in every universe the details are different.”

 

Eliott gives a hollow sounding laugh. “That’s great, Even, but when it comes down to it what you’re saying is that none of our choices matter. It’s all parallel bullshit.”

 

Even frowns. “Your choices still matter,” he says. “I believe that--I have to believe that.”

 

“Maybe if we can figure out what else is the same we’ll find out what’s happening,” Niccolò suggests quietly.

 

“Sonja,” Even starts, and he can’t help but feel guilty. “My ex. Is she?”

 

“Her name’s Maddalena,” Niccolò says. He traces the wood grain of the table. “It was her that told Martino I had borderline personality disorder after…”

 

“After the manic episode,” Eliott finishes. The corners of his mouth are twisted downwards, and Even shifts in his seat. “I remember.”

 

Even swallows. He’s not sure how he feels about his mental illness seeming to be one of the only constants across every version of himself. Well, that and—

 

“Then Isak came back,” Even says. He can still remember the press of Isak’s fingers against his cheek, half frozen from the December air but warming every molecule until he shattered into the touch and clung to him with everything he had.

 

Niccolò rests his head on the back of the couch, looking towards the ceiling. “You are not alone,” he says. The words hang in the air, and none of them try to touch them.

 

There’s a weighted silence.

 

Even licks his lips. “I guess we found our fixed point,” he says.

 

::

 

Niccolò is waiting in the hotel lobby the next morning when Even steps out of the elevator. Somehow he’s not surprised.

 

“I got you a coffee,” Niccolò says. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I just got two of my order.” Even accepts the offered cup and takes a sip. It’s perfect. “I’m sorry for just showing up, but I’m leaving the day after tomorrow and I wanted to see how you were doing.”

 

Even blinks, taken aback. He’d been anticipating something more along the lines of an argument, or at least an interrogation. (Not that it wouldn’t be deserved.) “How _I’m_ doing?”

 

“It was a weird night.” Niccolò pulls a face. “That’s probably an understatement.”

 

“Definitely an understatement. It’s not everyday you find out you’re a clone.” Even takes another sip, and it really is perfect. Maybe there are some perks after all. “But I’m okay. I’ve had a little time to think about it.”

 

“And?”

 

“It’s a little scary,” Even admits. “What it implies. What about you?”

 

Niccolò shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess it’s just not really something that scares me. In the end we’re all the last men on earth.”

 

“What do you mean by ‘last men on earth?’” Even asks.

 

“You spend your life surrounded by other people, but it doesn’t mean you’re not lonely. So you meet people and you try to share parts of your life with them. If you’re lucky you even find the same someone to share things with. But in the end everyone dies alone.”

 

“That’s a bit morbid. You really are a version of me.”

 

Niccolò laughs. “Or you’re a version of _me._ ”

 

“Well you’re not alone anymore,” Even says. “Considering, I’d say you’re the opposite of whatever alone is.”

 

“My point still stands.”

 

Even pauses. “Maybe you do die alone,” he says slowly. “But are you really the last man on earth if you’ve shared it with other people?”

 

“Now you sound like Marti,” Niccolò says.

 

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

 

“It is.” Niccolò’s fingers tap a rhythm against his cup. “You never think like that?”

 

“All the time,” Even says dryly. “For me it’s more like a ‘the brain is alone’ kind of feeling. It’s you and your thoughts all the time and you can’t escape them. The only way is to die.”

 

Niccolò nods. “I’m trying to talk to people more,” he says distastefully.   


“That’s what my therapist says I should do.”

 

“Apparently it’s harder to be lonely if you let people in.”

 

“That’s exactly the kind of thing a therapist would say,” Even says. It’s strange--he thinks this is the longest he’s talked about therapy or his mental health in a long time. Even with Isak he tries to keep these kinds of conversations to the bare minimum. “Do you ever feel uncomfortable talking to Martino about it?”

 

“He says it doesn’t make him sad, but I know it does,” Niccolò says. “I don’t want to drag him down with me.”

 

“I feel as though the things I think or feel are so much darker than everyone around me,” Even says.

 

“Exactly.”

 

Even drinks the last swells of his coffee and aims for the trash can. Miraculously he makes it. “Sometimes I still feel--” He can’t finish.

 

Niccolò understands anyway. “But we’re still here.”

 

“We’re still here,” Even repeats. They are.

 

::

 

After Niccolò leaves, Even finds himself in front of Eliott’s apartment. If Eliott tells him to piss off he will, he just wants to make sure the other man is okay. While Even doesn’t want to monitor, he knows that existentialism can be an easy trigger for an episode. He presses the buzzer, pulling the door open a moment later.

 

To his surprise it’s Lucas that greets him. “Hi. Even, right?”

 

He inclines his head. “Is Eliott home?”

 

“He’s in the living room. I was just about to leave anyway.” Lucas opens the door a little wider, grabbing his jacket from the rack hanging behind. He reaches for his sneakers and shoves his foot into them, scowling when his heel doesn’t quite fit.

 

“Lucas?” Even says before he can stop himself.

 

“Yeah?”

 

Even’s brain freezes. Now that he has Lucas’s attention, he has no idea what to say. There’s some part of him that’s curious, having spent time with other versions of himself, what Isak’s counterparts are like. “How long have you and Eliott been together?”

 

“Three years, give or take,” Lucas says. “Why do you ask?”

 

“Just curious.”

 

“Eliott mentioned you have a boyfriend?”

 

Even smiles. “Isak,” he says. He wonders if he’ll ever get tired of referring to Isak as his boyfriend. Probably not, but it’s a theory he’s more than happy to test.

 

“How long have you been dating?”

 

“Five years.”

 

Lucas pauses in his shoelace tying. “What’s your favorite thing about him?” The question seems to take him by surprise as much as it does Even.

 

“Everything.” Lucas rolls his eyes, and he laughs. “Isak’s been through a lot of shit, but he’s still one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. He’s grumpy so he’d never admit it, but he cares so much about other people it hurts.” And then, because Even never claimed to be humble, “Why? What’s your favorite thing about Eliott?”

 

Lucas’s gaze drifts towards the floor, but he’s obviously seeing something else. “He’s braver than he thinks he is. He’s always there for other people, even when he’s the one in trouble. Even if he’s sick he still asks me if I’m okay.” Lucas rubs the back of his next self-consciously. “I’m glad you have someone like Isak.”

 

Even has to resist the urge to give him a hug.  “Eliott is lucky to have you,” he says, and Lucas glances towards the direction of the living room. “You’re lucky to have each other.”

 

“I know.” Lucas leans down and finishes tying his shoes. “I have to go,” he says apologetically. “I’m sure I’ll see you later.”

 

Even waits until he’s closed the door before venturing towards the living room. Eliott’s stretched out on the couch, frowning at his sketchbook. His hands are covered in graphite, and he flips the drawing upside down.   


“What’re you working on?” Even asks.

 

Eliott sets the sketchbook on the coffee table, swinging his legs off the couch to cross in front of him. “A hedgehog. Long story,” he adds at Even’s raised eyebrow.

 

“I’m sorry for the other night,” Even says, figuring he might as well get it over with. “I kind of sprung everything on you.”

 

Eliott runs a hand over his face, looking weary. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t handle things how I should have.”

 

“It was a weird night,” he says, echoing Niccolò’s words from earlier.

 

For some reason that brings the barest hint of a smile to Eliott’s face. “Everything is weird,” he says. He leans back into the cushions. “You can sit down, you know.”

 

Even sits in the same chair he did last time and gives himself a moment to exhale. “Lucas seems really nice,” he says. Eliott’s jaw clenches, and his heart sinks.

 

“He is.”

 

“But?” he prompts.

 

“But he’s too good for me,” Eliott says. He laces his fingers together, pressing hard enough his knuckles turn white.

 

“What?” Even asks, taken aback. “Lucas loves you.”

 

“You’ve never felt like that about Isak?”

 

And, well. Point taken. Even’s tempted to say otherwise, but Eliott looks so sad he can’t help it. “I have.”

 

“He has to put up with a lot. More than he should.”

 

“But that’s up to Lucas to decide.”

 

“Now that I know parallel universes exist maybe there’s an Eliott somewhere that’s better--has his shit together.” Eliott smiles, but it’s humorless. “Someone good enough.”

 

“You are enough,” Even says.

 

“And Isak?”

 

Even thinks. He thinks about Isak’s exasperated (albeit fond) groan of complaint whenever he plays Gabrielle, and how he eats scrambled eggs like he’s never tasted them before. He thinks about goodnight kisses and morning blowjobs and everything in between, and how Isak makes him soup when he’s having a depressive episode and doesn’t sleep until he does. Even when it’s been days and Isak’s dead on his feet.

 

“Minute by minute,” he says finally. Every minute he gets with Isak is a minute more, and if that ever changes at least he has their time now. 

 

“You’re a good person,” Eliott says. “I can tell how much you care about him. You shouldn’t worry.”

 

“You shouldn’t either.”

 

Eliott reaches for a joint, holding it out. “Lucas won’t be back for a couple of hours,” and the _you can stay is implied._

 

Even grabs the cigarette. “Tell me more about your hedgehog,” he says. Eliott smiles.

 

::

 

They go out their last night, just the three of them. Even thinks he should find it stranger than he does. Or maybe not, because when they’re not trying to figure out if the universe is about to implode it feels like he’s known Niccolò and Eliott all his life.

 

“I still can’t believe Baz Luhrmann is your favorite director,” Eliott says. 

 

“Don’t you dare insult Baz,” Even says, pressing a hand to his heart. “He’s a genius.”

 

“He’s good, but genius?”

 

“It’s what Baz deserves.”

 

“His moves _are_ kind of flashy,” Niccolò says.

 

Even shoots him a betrayed look. “Traitor.”

 

“I tried to watch _Moulin Rouge_ and it was pretty good but the editing was so frantic it gave me a headache,” Eliott says. “I think he’s incapable of holding a shot for longer than three seconds.”

 

Fine. Maybe Even can concede on that point.

 

They step outside of the restaurant, lingering by the door. He has a flight in eight hours, but he finds himself dragging his feet. It’s not like he won’t see either of them again (at some point they’ll actually need to work on _Polaris_ ) but who knows how far away that’ll be?

 

“I guess if there are going to be other versions of me I’m glad they’re you,” he says.

 

“Thanks?” Niccolò says, the word tilting into a question. “You too?” Even rolls his eyes, smiling, and pulls him into a hug. Niccolò’s considerably shorter but they make it work. The other man’s hair tickles against his nose, and Even rests his chin on the top of his head.

 

He hugs Eliott next, wrapping his arms around him and squeezing with everything he has. He hopes he and Lucas are happy--hopes he and Isak can make it regardless of the universe. “Thank you for everything.”

 

“Bring Isak and Martino next time,” Eliott says.

 

“Next time?” Niccolò asks. “Wow. Presumptuous.”

 

“For the next meeting,” Eliott counters. “What did you think I meant?” Niccolò contorts his face rather unattractively.

 

“I’ll ask him,” Even promises.

 

“Me too, if Marti will believe me,” Niccolò says.

 

Even huffs. He hasn’t even tackled how he’s going to tell Isak. He decides that’s a problem for future Even. “There’s that.”

 

“I’m sure they would realize something was off,” Eliott says. “He’s smart.”

 

He’s not sure which ‘he’ Eliott is talking about (maybe all of them) but either way he agrees.

 

“I’ll see you around,” he says. “Good luck.” He waves goodbye, Niccolò and Eliott returning the gesture. He turns and begins to walk down the street, and through the noise of the city he can hear two pairs of footsteps heading in the opposite direction.

 

Paris is lantern lit and shining, Even is happy, and there are eight hours until he sees Isak again. He pauses at the end of the street and looks back. Niccolò has already rounded the corner, but he can make out the glow of Eliott’s hair as the man makes his way home.

 

Even has a feeling they’re going to be just fine.


	3. what's just one more thought

Isak’s left his phone at work and he’s already running late. Even’s supposed to be arriving home any minute, and he _had_ planned on having dinner ready and maybe even a candle and some flowers but instead he’s sprinting back to the office.

 

He’s just really fucking missed him. It didn’t help Even had gone strangely silent about his trip during the last few days, only giving vague statements of “I’ll tell you later” and “it’s been very enlightening.”

 

Isak crosses the street and quickens his pace. The office is just in sight, and if he hurries he can at least be there to welcome him home. Maybe it won’t be so bad after all.

 

He’s just thinking this as his shoelace catches on a patch of concrete and he goes down, arms flailing wildly. He takes down some poor stranger who’d had the misfortune of standing too close, and they land in a tangle of limbs and swearing. He hits the pavement shoulder first, and that’s going to be fun in a few days.

 

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going." He stumbles to his feet and offers a hand to the stranger, pulling him to his feet. “I’m Isak.” The man looks up, and suddenly vertigo grips Isak until he almost loses his balance again. The stranger catches him in time, but Isak yanks his hand away like he’s been burned. Maybe he has.

 

The man doesn’t seem particularly offended, brushing his unkempt hair further off his forehead. “Matteo. It’s nice to meet you.”

 

**fin. part one**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally I'd been hoping to have this finished/posted before season three of Druck started, but at least it's finished before the official introduction of GerEven. This was just a silly 'lol what if?' idea that turned into something more, and I'm really glad you enjoyed it. Thank you so, so much for reading and commenting--it means the world xx


	4. at least i avoided cliche

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isak had dutifully gone to Paris for the next meeting and met their counterparts. He’d liked Eliott and Niccolò well enough but Lucas and Martino were...fine. They were fine. 
> 
> Even had raved about how nice it was to have so much common ground but Isak just found it awkward. He looked at Martino and wondered if his mother was mentally ill. He stared at Lucas and wondered if he’d abandoned his family too. 
> 
> And then there was Matteo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I was finished with this but then Druck and Skam España happened and Skam NL did THAT and one thing led to another so here we are. I was going to make this into a series but I know how irritating it is to have the entire tag filled with crossovers, so I’m just adding onto the original instead. I’m not totally sure where it’ll go but my goal is to have all the Evaks someday. I’m like a rare Pokémon collector for gays. 
> 
> (Please note the rating change. I can’t smut but I tried lmao)

Isak has never enjoyed movie premieres. Sure, he likes seeing the look of pride on Even’s face, but the cameras and questions and stress and interviews and PR is enough to make anyone want to scream. 

“Remember,” Julie says, straightening Isak’s tie. “The press is your friend. For now. So no flipping them off or breaking cameras or--” She pauses, raising her eyebrows and scanning him dubiously. “Just be on your best behavior.”

 

Isak scowls. “I know,” he says. “And that was _once._ ” 

 

“Let’s try and keep it that way,” she says, patting him on the shoulder. He bats her hand away like the mature twenty four year old he is. He likes Julie well enough; as far as agents and PR managers go Even’s had far worse. But she’s still PR and Isak still hates the public. 

 

“I think Isak learned his lesson last time,” Even says, drawing Isak’s eyes toward him. There was a reason he’d been trying not to look his boyfriend’s way. Even always looked good, but there was something about him in a suit that...Isak was definitely a fan. His pants were black; fitted to accentuate the slenderness of his legs and his jacket was perfectly tapered to his form. Even with Julie in the room Isak was tempted to drag him into the bathroom for a quick blowjob. 

 

“They’re ready for you,” Julie says, interrupting any further plans. 

 

Isak forces his grimace into a smile, straightening his tie. Even links their arms together, eyes soft with a kind of open affection that makes him want to pretend to be brave. Isak leans into him as they step through the doors, immediately blinded by the flashes of cameras. 

 

The carpet is blue, not red, which is a little disappointing. Even beams at the cameras like a fucking model, and Isak fervently hopes he remembered to floss. They continue down the carpet, pausing every now and again for another photo. Isak’s cheeks are beginning to hurt, and if it wasn’t for Even’s presence he 

 

They reach the first reporter, a pretty, blonde haired woman with flushed cheeks. “Cris Soto,” she says. “I’m a journalist from _Existential Queer_.” Isak snorts. They both ignore him. “My wife came with me today,” she adds. “We both cried, even if she won’t admit it.”

 

Even laughs. “I would apologize but that’s the biggest compliment you can give me.”

 

“There have been rumors of a sequel--can you comment?”

 

He wiggles his eyebrows. “All I can say is that if the next few weeks go well I don’t think any of us have closed the door on Tarjei and Henrik’s story.”

 

“What would you say is your biggest inspiration?”

 

Isak startles as Even wraps an arm around his waist, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “My boyfriend. He always becomes a part of everything I work on, even when I hadn’t planned on it.” 

 

“So I have to ask,” Cris says. “The kiss underwater. Was that based on anything?”

 

“Our first kiss was underwater,” Even says. “I couldn’t resist.” 

 

The reporter has a strange expression on her face and with a sinking pit in his stomach Isak knows what she’s going to say next. “Mine was too,” she says. “Weird coincidence.” 

 

He;s been through this enough times to know where this is going. He gives Cris a closer look, taking in her braids hair and yellow dress with an air of vague curiosity. Usually when he meets  another version of himself there’s a headache or sense of deja vu that follows. With Cris there’s nothing. Maybe he’s wrong. 

 

He sighs, fiddling with his sleeves. A camera flashes somewhere to his left, and he cringes. White blinds him and spots dance behind his eyelids as he blinks. As his vision clears he sees Matteo standing a few meters away, looking incredibly uncomfortable. 

 

“Hi,” Isak says, plastering his press ready smile back on.

 

“Hello,” Matteo echoes. They stand in silence for a moment, Isak staring somewhere over the other man’s shoulder. The less time he has to spend looking at Matteo the better. “Thanks for the invitation.” 

 

“We’re glad you could make it.” 

 

After his time in Paris Even hadn’t been able to shut up about Niccolò and Eliott. (“They’re so talented Isak! Wait until you see what we’ve created. It’s just the opening but it’s like we’re on the same wavelength. I can’t wait for you to meet them.) He was pretty sure they had a fucking group chat. 

 

So Isak had dutifully gone to Paris for the next meeting and met their counterparts. He’d liked Eliott and Niccolò well enough but Lucas and Martino were...fine. They were fine. 

 

Even had raved about how nice it was to have so much common ground but Isak just found it awkward. He looked at Martino and wondered if his mother was mentally ill. He stared at Lucas and wondered if he’d abandoned his family too. 

 

And then there was Matteo. 

 

After literally running into each other and hearing Even’s story from Paris Isak had tracked the other man down and they’d kept in contact. Even and David had become fast friends (he’d been added to the aforementioned group chat) but Isak and Matteo had spent one awkward night out together before silently agreeing to never repeat the experience. 

 

Matteo was _fine,_ but they didn’t have much in common. At least nothing either of them felt comfortable talking about. 

 

“David and I got separated but he should be here,” Matteo says. Thank god. Isak likes David well enough; at least he can hold a conversation for longer than three seconds. Matteo makes eye contact with someone behind him, waving them down.

 

David jogs over a moment later, running a hand through his hair. “Hello,” he says, grinning. 

 

“Hi. Thanks for coming all the way out,” Isak says. 

 

“It’s no problem,” David assures. He looks at Matteo, leaning in for a kiss. “I’ll be making the trip a lot soon anyway.”

 

Even had convinced David to intern with him for the next year after they’d connected over a shared love for romantic tragedies. For some reason it didn’t seem to make Matteo any more fond of Isak. 

 

“David!” Apparently done interviewing with Cris, Even lunges forward and pulls a startled David into a hug. “What did you think?”

 

“It was amazing,” David says. “How did you film the scenes at the beach? I noticed the tracking shot stayed clear even though the environmental effects were in constant flux. The sound mixing was impressive too.”

 

Even’s eyes lit up in his ‘I’m a gigantic nerd’ expression. “It’s interesting you bring that up because--”

 

Isak turns his attention back to Matteo. He loves Even, but the two of them will probably be there for awhile. “How’s university?”

 

“Fine.” Matteo rubs the back of his neck. “It’s good.”

 

Isak nods, movement a little too quick. “But you like it?”

 

“I guess so. How’s work?”

 

“Good.” He sneaks a glance at Even, who’s still engaged in conversation with David. He’s almost bouncing on the heels of his feet, radiating excitement. Isak would never begrudge him the (strange) bond he’s formed with his...alternate versions, especially when it seems to make him so happy, but sometimes he can’t help but compare. It’s only natural, he figures  

 

Matteo’s watching him in his typical half-asleep fashion, and Isak feels an irrational flash of irritation towards the other man. It’s as much his own fault they don’t get along, but sometimes Matteo just _stands there_ like he’s in his own little world and tuned out from the rest of the universe and Isak wants to shake him. 

 

His shirt is starting to construct around his throat, and his fingers itch to rip it off. He can’t stay here. His brain has started to buzz and that’s never ended well for anyone. “Tell Even I had to use the bathroom,” he tells Matteo before walking for the door as quickly as he can. Another camera flashes as he makes his escape and he just _knows_ it’ll be plastered over some shitty website with an equally trashy title by the end of the night.

 

He fucking hates movie premieres. 

 

::

 

“Do you ever think about marriage?” Even asks later that night. 

 

It’s too dark to see, but Isak feels exposed anyway. “Sometimes.”

 

Despite what Sana might say, he’s not completely stupid. Even’s brought up marriage enough times in the last few years that Isak knows it’s something he wants. Isak’s not opposed exactly, but Even’s parents are high school sweethearts and going on their fortieth anniversary. Isak’s dad abandoned his mom who proceeded to have a mental breakdown. 

 

Needless to say, his feelings on marriage are considerably more mixed. 

 

“Cris told me she and Joana are celebrating their first anniversary next month,” Even says. Isak makes a noncommittal noise. “What do you think?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Do you think they’re another version?”

 

Isak shrugs. “I didn’t feel anything when I met Cris, but it seems like a lot of coincidences otherwise.”

 

“I agree.” Even wraps his arms and a leg around Isak’s, nestling his face in his hair. He’s basically the human equivalent of an octopus, which is nice in the winter but unbearable as soon as it gets warm. “I invited David and Matteo on the press junket.”

 

“David I get, but Matteo?”

 

“I didn’t want to leave him out.” Even’s thumb traces circles on Isak’s back. “And I thought you could spend some time together.”

 

Isak groans. “Seriously Even?”

 

“You have a lot in common.” Isak elbows him in the ribs. No shit. “It could be nice.”

 

“Just because you and David get along doesn’t mean Matteo and I do.”

 

“But you could.”

 

“You’re more likable than me.”

 

Even buries his face in Isak’s hair, mussing his curls. “That’s not true. I can’t think of anyone that wouldn’t love you.”

 

After all this time Even could still make him blush like a teenager. “I think you might be biased,” he says lamely, trying to play off his embarrassment. 

 

“ _I_ love you.”

 

“I love you too.” 

 

“You looked so fucking hot tonight,” Even says. “All I wanted to do was kiss you.” Isak makes an undignified squeaking sound as Even rolls on top of him, pressing their lips together. Isak close his eyes, twisting his fingers in his hair and deepening the kiss. Even’s hair is still damp from where he’d tried to wash out the mousse from this evening. He nips at Even’s lower lip, mouth parting as the other man draws him closer.

 

Even’s hands grip his waist, fingers playing with the hem of Isak’s shirt and inching the fabric up. The cool air of the room brushes against his skin and Even drags his nails down his stomach, teasing his way to his boxers. He stops at the elastic band, letting his hand brush against Isak’s dick as he pulls away. 

 

“If Julie hadn’t been there,” Isak says, voice a little hoarse. “I would’ve blown you in the bathroom until you couldn’t stand.” 

 

Even in the dark, he can see Even’s pupils darken. “Isak--” 

 

Isak pulls him down into another kiss. He pushes Even onto his side, neither of them breaking contact. Their legs slot together, and they both moan as he grinds against Even’s thigh. Isak can feel the other man’s erection pressing against his hip. 

 

He breaks apart long enough to strip off his pajamas, Even doing the same. There’s nothing but bare skin when they connect again, limbs intertwining in a mess of heat and arousal. Isak directs his attention to Even’s neck, mouthing at his pulse and definitely sucking hard enough to leave a mark. Even exhales shakily, and Isak can’t help his slightly smug smile. He’s the only one that can make Even unravel piece by piece--the only one who knows the fastest way to make him orgasm and the only one that’s mapped the planes of his body enough to know how to drag every minute out. Fuck his other versions.

 

Isak resumes kissing his way down Even’s body, pausing once he reaches his dick. Precum beads the tip, the man’s hips bucking slightly in search of friction. Isak stops, looking up at Even as innocently as he can centimeters away from his cock.

 

“Do you want me to show you?” he asks. 

 

“Yes,” Even says, the word cutting off into a gasp as Isak takes him into his mouth. He doesn’t care how gay it makes him sound; he’s always loved blowing Even. Loved the way the other man’s hands grip his hair as he shakes apart under his touch and swallows the taste of him down. 

 

Isak uses one of his hands to hold the base of Even’s dick, taking him in even deeper with a frankly obscene sound. It brushes against the back of his throat, but he’s mastered the art of not gagging. Even’s breathes are coming out shorter and shorter, hands flitting from Isak’s hair to his shoulders and back to his hair like he can’t figure out the best way to anchor himself.

 

Isak releases him long enough to say “You can move you know” before fondling Even’s balls and swirling his tongue around the tip of his cock. The other man’s hips jerk and Isak lets the movement guide him. He’s so hard it hurts, and he wraps his free hand around himself. He whimpers at the relief, and as Even starts to thurst into his mouth he strokes himself in tandem. 

 

Even tightens his grip in Isak’s hair, his warning that he’s about to come. Isak doesn’t move, bobbing his head even more determinedly until Even is crying out—back arching in ecstasy. Isak swallows every last drop before detaching himself. He’s never been the biggest fan of the taste, but there’s something heady in the spark of possessiveness that curls in his stomach. 

 

It only takes a few, firm strokes before Isak follows him over the edge, Even holding him the entire time. 

 

He groans, collapsing on the pillow next to his boyfriend. “Fuck.”

 

Even laughs softly. “Fuck,” he echoes. He rests a hand under Isak’s chin, pulling him into a kiss. There’s no heat to it, merely a sense of quiet comfort. 

 

Isak knows he should clean himself up. He’s sticky and sweaty and it’ll only get worse as it dries, but as he goes to move Even makes a sound of discontentment and wraps his arms around him. 

 

“Stay,” he says, darting in to plant a kiss on his nose. 

 

That’s all the convincing Isak needs. He nestles back into Even’s side, their noses brushing together. Even traces the outline of his face over and over again, and Isak lets the motion lull him to sleep. 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Where Lives collide](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18055121) by [Squall95](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squall95/pseuds/Squall95)




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